Рауль Уитфилд - The Virgin Kills

“What do you think, coach?”

He almost growled at me. “They're a clean bunch of boys, my crew. Doc's right. Burke didn't do that. It's pretty terrible. No one did it—no person associated with the crew. That's my opinion.”

I said: “Did Babe Harron see any other persons but those associated with crew, within an hour of the time he collapsed?”

Mears frowned. “Crozier has been working along those lines,” he said. “There were several periods, short ones, when Harron was alone. That is, perhaps there were. But he was around the boathouse. Maybe in the shower room or looking over his oar. the boys get pretty nervous just before the big start. They find a lot of things to do I was around the place—I saw Burke once or twice, asked him how he felt. He acted pretty well—a little nervous, maybe, but not more so than a few of the others. Babe Harron was around, too. He looked good and was pretty cool.”

I said: “Did you see his back before the race?”

Coach Mears said: “Yes—but I wasn't very close to him. I saw his back from my launch, too—but again I wasn't very close. Tim Burke was in the best position to see any mark on the Babe's back. You know how it is—anything you haven't noticed before, on the back of the man you're facing in a shell—you notice it.”

Mick said in his big voice: “And Burke didn't notice anything, coach?”

Mears spread his hands and looked out over the Hudson water.

“Up until this morning he said he didn't,” he stated.

“But Crozier tells me that he's changed his story now. He says that he did see a small mark at the spot where we know the injection was made.”

I stared at the coach. “He says that now?” I muttered. “Why didn't he tell Crozier that before?”

Mears shook his head slowly. “He says he was pretty worried about our finding the hypodermic needle in his cot mattress—and he figured he'd better not admit anything that would involve him. It wasn't much of a mark, he says. Something that looked a little like an insect sting, only it wasn't swollen.”

Mick looked at me, “Burke's going to get himself into trouble if he isn't careful,” he said.—

Coach Mears narrowed eyes on the big fellow. He said slowly:

“Going to get himself into trouble. I'd say he's in pretty deep right now. And I can't believe it.”

“Believe what?” I asked. Mears shrugged. “You knew Vennell, you two. I didn't. Miss Vreedon came to me this morning; she's pretty upset. She's in love with Burke, and he's crazy about her. She told me that the reason Burke swam out here was that he had heard Vennell was here, in the yacht.”

I said: “We got up here pretty late—the night before the day of the race. Crew hits the hay early, doesn't it? How'd he hear it?”

The coach said: “Sonia wrote him, a couple of days before you came up.”

I whistled softly. Mick swore. “The more those two try to explain, the deeper they get,” he muttered.

Mears nodded. “Damned if they don't. But there wasn't much Burke held back from Sonia. Burke and the girl met the first year he was at California. Vennell was out there now and then. Tim thinks he was figuring on using him, even then. Vennell met Sonia through Tim. She liked him a little—she admits that. Now and then she joined a party on this yacht. Tim was along, if it wasn't during college term. And then Tim got the idea that Vennell expected him to do something. There were questions Vennell asked, things he hinted at. And he was pretty enthusiastic when Burke made crew. All this is what Sonia tells me. She feels, I believe, that Tim didn't do what Crozier and Risdon seem to think. And she was trying to explain why both she and Burke wouldn't explain the real reason for his swim out. They were both afraid that if it was learned Vennell and Burke had known each other—”

He shrugged. Mick said slowly, looking up at the tip of the stack:

“They're pretty sure Burke used the morphine.”

Coach Mears nodded. “But they don't believe he intended to kill. They think that he made a mistake in the dose. They think Vennell made a guess at it—because he used the stuff. He got the morphine to Burke—they think that's why Tim swam out, either to get it or to get instructions. He was promised a large sum of money, with California out of the race. He wanted Miss Vreedon and needed the money. That's the police theory, if you consider Crozier and Risdon police.”

Mick muttered: “They got plenty against the kid, at that.”

Mears nodded. “They have, because they don't believe his story that he swam out to find out how Vennell was betting. He was worried, and Sonia says he was more worried when he was told that she thought Vennell was lying about having a bet on California. He was afraid of something.”

Crozier came along the deck, with Doc Vollmer at his side. They moved toward us, and Crozier said to Mick O'Rourke:

“Stand over there, alongside of Coach Mears, will you, O'Rourke?”

Mick said: “Sure.”

He moved over and stood beside the coach. He was broader and a good six inches taller, in spite of the fact that Mears was a big man. Crozier tapped his mustache and frowned.

“That's all, Mr. O'Rourke,” he said.

Mick came back near my desk chair and leaned against the rail. He said:

“What's that prove?”

Crozier disregarded the question. He addressed the coach.

“Babe Harron was just about your height, wasn't he, coach?”

Mears nodded. “Perhaps a half-inch taller,” he said.

I looked at Crozier, and when his eyes caught mine, I spoke seriously.

“I've a question I'd like to ask—if you aren't asking that things should be absolutely private. I'd like to have Coach Mears hear me ask it.”

Crozier smiled. “Go ahead.”

I said: “If Tim Burke's motive was to lose the race for California—if that was the thing to be gained, why did he use the morphine on Harron? He was in the shell. Certainly he's read the story about the crew man who threw the race pretending he had collapsed. Why didn't Burke just flop over? He could have done it a little sooner, to make sure the others didn't pull his dead oar over the line.”

Mears was nodding his head slowly. So was Doctor Vollmer—and so was Crozier.

Crozier smiled just a little. “That was one of the first things I thought of—in favor of Tim Burke,” he said. “But it was one of the things that Risdon thought of, too. Others who have asked me that are Doctor Bryce, Doctor Vollmer here, Coach Mears, Sonia Vreedon, Miss Velda, Tim Burke—”

“That's enough,” I cut in. “I wasn't claiming originality. I'll admit it seems obvious that Burke would collapse.”

Crozier said: “Vennell was the one who planned to morphine the stroke. Not Burke. Burke did what he was told. Vennell was shrewd; we all thought of a very good reason why Tim Burke didn't have to use morphine on another crew man. But suppose Vennell thought of it, too. He would tell his idea to Tim, and Tim would tell me, if he were suspected. Well, Burke is suspected. And less than thirty minutes ago he asked me the same question that you just asked me, Connors. Why should he morphine a man—when he could simply collapse? That's the very reason he should —because the apparent foolishness of the act would be in his favor. And there is a secondary reason—if he collapsed there would be some disgrace. But the other way, there was none.”

Vollmer said: “I wouldn't exactly say that.” His voice held bitterness. “A crew member has been murdered—and all of us are more or less suspected.”

Mick said slowly: “I didn't ask you that question—I didn't think of it.”

Crozier said grimly: “Well, it might have come to you later.”

Mick looked serious. “I don't think it would have come later.”